


A Christmas to Remember

by breezyyy



Category: The Voice (US) RPF, The Voice RPF
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-21
Updated: 2015-05-21
Packaged: 2018-03-31 15:04:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3982546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breezyyy/pseuds/breezyyy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blake and Adam host both their families for the holiday. Fluff ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Christmas to Remember

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this prompt on Tumblr: Adam and Blake are at the ranch, it's two days before Christmas and they are hosting both of their families. I want to see them, shopping, wrapping presents, cooking, baking, having a snowball fight, building a snowman, sitting by the fire, getting caught under the mistletoe, waking up late (nudge, nudge, wink, wink) and finally eating Christmas dinner with their families.
> 
> I'm not sure if I like how this one turned out but I did my best. Sorry it took so long!

They’re both a little nervous. It’s the first time their families will be spending the holiday together.

He and Adam have been together for a couple years now but never before have they hosted such a big event for their loved ones. It has them both a little on edge but they’re happy to do it—more than happy, even. It’s not very often their relatives can all get together like this and it’ll be a special time, Blake is sure of it.

It’s a little hectic, though—they have so much to do and Christmas is only two days away. They’ve barely scratched the surface of all they need to get done before everyone shows up on Christmas Eve.

Adam is currently sifting through boxes of decorations that Blake had pulled from the attic. He’s leaned over inside one of the bigger boxes, reaching for something down at the very bottom, and Blake has been sneakily admiring his backside for the last couple minutes (Adam-watching is one of his favorite pastimes, he decided long ago).

The little guy straightens up after another minute of digging around (and wiggling his butt in such a way that leaves Blake a little breathless) and holds up the row of tinsel he had been searching for.

“Found it!” he exclaims, marching over to the fireplace and hanging it along the mantel.

Blake gets up to help him. “Y’know, we really don’t have to decorate this much.”

The house is already littered with red and green tinsel and little Santa figurines. It’s a little much.

Adam scowls. “No such thing as too much decorating,” he insists. “Besides, I want to.”

He really does, is the thing. Blake had told him that they didn’t need to do much—put a wreath up, the tree, some lights, and a couple stockings, and that was it—but Adam had been adamant from the very beginning that they needed to turn the entire house into Santa’s workshop or something.

Blake doesn’t think the ranch has ever been this heavily decorated.

It’s different than what he’s used to but he knows Adam never got to do much of this as a kid, growing up in a Jewish family and all, so Blake is happy to let him have his fun.

“Guess that’s all that matters, then,” is his only reply, which earns him a small grin.

Adam trots back over to the boxes after they finish hanging the tinsel (and after making sure it doesn’t drape down far enough to catch fire—Blake has a story about that one, for another time) and starts picking around in the boxes again, choosing carefully which decorations he thinks they should set out and which ones should be tossed back up in the attic.

Blake goes ahead and takes some of the now-empty boxes and sets them aside in a neat stack to put away later.

When he turns back around, he has to bite his lip not to laugh out loud.

Adam is wearing a Santa hat.

He must have found it in one of the boxes. It’s a little faded and a little big on him but Adam seems pleased with it, adjusting the hat with his hands until he’s completely satisfied.

There’s no way Adam should look as adorable as he does in that thing, but then again he always had an uncanny ability to make anything look good.

It’s kinda unfair.

But also really fucking cute.

Adam goes back to digging as if nothing had changed, as if he hadn’t just put on a Santa hat and made Blake’s heart flutter and his stomach do ten flip-flops.

He watches with a warm feeling in his chest as Adam pulls out more decorations and bustles around the house setting them all in place. He’s completely focused as he does it, channeling his nervous energy into something productive because God knows Blake doesn’t know where to put any of this stuff and Adam is anxious enough for the both of them.

He only knows where the tree goes (same place it always goes) and they don’t even have that yet.

Adam is a little out of breath and flushed when he finishes stringing some lights up around the rafters. With his red hat and his little blue sweater, he looks downright cute.

The warm feeling in his chest expands until his whole body, right down to his fingers and toes, is buzzing with affection.

 _Christ_ , he has it bad.

He slides up behind Adam and wraps his arms around him, leaning down to pepper his shoulder with kisses. “You wanna go pick out a tree?”

Adam turns to look up at him. “Right now?”

“Now’s as good a time as ever.”

“I thought you wanted to wait until Christmas Eve.”

Blake shrugs. He did want to do that, but now he’s changed his mind. Adam is being unfairly cute and Blake wants to see more of that, wants to see him smile for a few hours longer. “Might as well get it while we’re already decorating the house. We can put ornaments on it later, if you want.”

Adam beams up at him and presses a chaste kiss to his lips. “I’ll go get dressed,” he says and then pushes away from him, practically running up the steps in his haste to go grab some warmer clothes from their bedroom.

He comes back down in a thick grey sweater, a beanie, and some skinny jeans.

Adam slides into his winter jacket and zips it up, pulling the furry hood up around his face.

The Santa hat is still in his hand and Blake is about to tell him to put it down when Adam stands on his tiptoes and reaches up to tug it down over Blake’s head.

Blake blinks.

Adam smiles cheekily.

Sighing and accepting his fate, Blake opens the door for him, gesturing outside. “Ready?”

“Ready, Santa!”

\--

No one seems to look twice at him and Blake doesn’t know whether to be relieved or horrified that it’s apparently normal for people to walk around a tree farm wearing a Santa hat.

It’s fucking cold out (as Oklahoma sometimes tends to be around this time of year) and Adam is shivering as they walk across the field, their boots crunching against the snow.

Blake feels bad for him, but it’s Adam’s own fault they’ve been out here for so long.

“How about this one?” he asks for what feels like the hundredth time, pointing at a large pine tree in front of them.

Adam gawks at it, scandalized at the mere suggestion. “That thing’s twice your size! We can barely get  _you_  through the door, what makes you think we could shove that thing in?”

Blake shrugs. “I like big trees.”

“It won’t fit. Your ceiling is only like nine feet—that thing is, like,  _fifty_  feet.”

“Exaggerating, much?”

“I’m not,” Adam sniffs at him. “We need something practical, Blake. We’re not gonna fold a giant tree in half just to get it inside your house just because you like big trees.”

Blake shrugs again. “You pick, then. Since you’re the expert.”

Adam sprints ahead of him at the permission, passing through row after row of trees and circling around to see which ones meet his standard and which ones don’t, touching the bristles with his gloved hand with something akin to awe on his face.

He pauses at each one for a moment, considering, and then he’s off again, bounding through the snow and carefully inspecting every tree he comes across like they hold all the secrets and all he has to do is listen.

“Would you slow it down?” Blake calls out around a laugh somewhere ten feet behind him. “You’re like a puppy seeing snow for the first time, I swear.”

Adam doesn’t slow down, not that Blake is surprised. He dodges around so fast he kicks up snow and leaves messy footprints behind him.

He’s like a kid on a sugar high.

Adam finally stands still long enough for Blake to catch up with him a few minutes later, tilting his head to the side and staring up at the tree he’s stopped in front of.

“This one,” he states, pointing at it as if Blake can’t already see it.

“You’re kidding,” Blake deadpans.

Adam shakes his head, beaming like he’s found Waldo instead of the dingiest, scrawniest tree Blake’s ever seen in his life. “It’s perfect.”

“It’s missing half its bristles.”

“Shhh,” Adam hisses and turns his back on the tree, holding his arms out as if protecting it from Blake’s words. “Don’t say things like that in front of it.”

“It’s a  _tree_ , Adam.”

“It’s also _perfect_.”

Blake sighs. It’s not what he had in mind; the tree is just barely six foot and the branches are so sparse you can see right through them to the other side of the field. It’s a pretty crappy tree, if you ask him.

He’s not sure why Adam is so into it.

He opens his mouth to suggest picking out another one but the moment he glances over at his boyfriend, he gets that funny feeling in his chest again that threatens to choke him.

The cold air has colored Adam’s cheeks into a rosy, kissable pink color. He looks adorable, even with the layers and layers of ridiculous outerwear he’s sporting.

Adam is also looking at him with some kind of hesitant expectance, like he knows Blake is about to object and make him go find a better tree but is still hoping anyways that he won’t.

Damn it.

He can’t disappoint a face like that two days from Christmas.

He’s so fucking whipped it’s not even funny.

He leans down and pecks Adam on the cheek, wrapping an arm around his thin shoulders and bringing him flush to his side. Maybe the tree isn’t that bad—they can spruce it up, make it look pretty.

“Okay,” he agrees at last, “let’s get it.”

Adam breaks out in a grin, jumping a little and clutching the front of Blake’s jacket in excitement. “Really?”

Blake kisses him again, on the lips this time. “Yeah, really.”

Adam snuggles against him, ear pressed against his chest as they stare up at their new tree.

It’s a perfect moment, until—

“Blake?”

“Yeah?”

“I was just kidding. I don’t really want the tree.”

“ _Adam!_ ”

The front man squeaks and squirms out of Blake’s arms when the older man tries to crush him in a giant bear hug. “Sorry, I’m sorry!” Adam laughs, darting around to hide behind one of the trees, covering his mouth with his mittens. “I just wanted to see how much you love me. How was I supposed to know you’d agree to actually take that monstrosity home with us?”

“Stop that right now. You’re gonna hurt its feelings.”

“It’s a  _tree_ , dipshit.”

Blake glowers at him—or at least he tries to—but he can feel his own dimples threatening to burst free as he tries to force back a smile. Adam is such a little shit, but he’s the cutest little shit Blake’s ever seen in his life. It’s so damn hard to stay mad at him, or even  _get_  mad at him for that matter. He might be an insufferable little idiot sometimes but it’s all a part of his charm, somehow.

Adam giggles and wraps his arms around him. “Forgive me?”

“I suppose.”

Another giggle. “I’ll make it up to you later, cowboy.”

They end up picking out a decently-sized pine with wide branches and a perfect shape.

Blake makes Adam promise him five times over that it’s actually the one he wants and not another test before paying for it.

\--

They decorate the tree when they get home.

It doesn’t take long—Adam had already gotten the ornaments out and ready earlier so all they have to do is hang them up. Dean Martin croons at them from the radio in the background as they circle around the tree, both of them getting a little dizzy as they wrap the light and tinsel around its branches.

Adam takes his time in putting the ornaments up, biting his lip and looking thoughtful as to where he wants to place each one. Blake on the other hand just sticks them wherever they’ll fit and moves on to the next.

An hour later and they’re finished aside from the last and final touch: the star.

It’s old as balls, cracked in a few places and the lights inside of it don’t twinkle anymore, but it’s an old family heirloom and Blake’s mama would smack upside the head if she came over and saw that he hadn’t used it.

He can easily reach the top of the tree but Adam can’t and naturally, he’s the one who wants to put the star on top.

“Lift me up?” Adam asks innocently, holding his arms out with the star clutched in his right hand.

Blake sighs and bends over, wrapping his arms around Adam’s legs and hoisting him up in the air. Adam steadies himself with a squeak and a hand on top of Blake’s head, and then settles down to sit on his shoulders.

He reaches out and sticks the star on, wiggling and twisting it to make sure it’s stuck on there good before he lets go.

“Does that look okay?” Adam asks, doubtful.

“It’s a little crooked.”

“So is your face.”

“Just fix the damn thing.”

Adam reaches for the star again, straightening it. “Better?”

“Perfect.”

He lets Adam down but keeps his hands on him, just because. Adam turns around in his arms so they’re face-to-face and smiles up at him, hugging him tight. “Yes, it is,” he says and kisses him soundly on the mouth.

\--

“I’ve never seen so many friggin’ people in my life.”

Blake wholeheartedly agrees; the mall is packed with last-minute Christmas shoppers. It’ll be a miracle if they make it out in one piece—or at least without getting mobbed by the paparazzi.

He gives Adam’s hand a squeeze. “Let’s just get in and out as fast as possible, yeah?”

They have a list of people they still need to buy presents for because they're both procrastinating idiots and didn't do any of their shopping back when they should have. It’s a long list, but they’re hoping to get through it without too much of a hassle. One of the perks about being a couple now is they only have to buy one gift for each person and just say it’s from both of them, rather than buying individual presents.

“Who should we buy for first?” Blake asks, peering down at the list Adam has in his hand.

“My brothers?”

“Lead the way, rock star.”

Adam does just that, taking his hand and strategically guiding him through the throng of people. If anyone recognizes them, they don’t show it—but then again it might just be too crowded and busy for anyone to be on the lookout for a handsome pop singer and his giant country hick boyfriend.

They buy Sam a pair of Jordan’s and Michael some kind of Broadway boxset thing that Adam tries to explain to him but Blake just doesn’t understand the appeal—but whatever Michael wants, Michael gets.

Or so Adam says.

“What should we buy your mom?” Adam asks when they come to a stop in front of one of the clothing shops. He lightly touches one of the scarves hanging on display in the entryway, his brow furrowed. “We gotta get her something nice.”

Blake knows that tone, recognizes that furrowed brow. He sighs. “She likes you just fine, Adam. You don’t have to buy her something fancy to win her over.”

“She called me a  _home wrecker_.”

“That was a year ago,” Blake reminds him and gives Adam’s hand a rough shake, trying to rattle some sense into him. “She’s come around since then, once she realized I wasn’t getting back with ‘Ran. She even called me the other night and asked me for your measurements.”

Adam blinks. “My measurements?”

“Yeah, you know—arm length, stuff like that. I reckon she wants to knit you something.”

“Or she’s building my coffin and wants to make sure I’ll fit in it.”

“Adam…”

“Right, yeah, I know, I’m sorry,” the front man sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I just—what do we get her?”

Blake takes the scarf Adam had been fiddling with off the rack. “How about this?”

“That?”

“It’s pretty.”

“It’s a puke-yellow color,” Adam says and makes a face. He puts it back and snatches up another one with a blue floral print on it. “How about this one?”

“She’ll love it,” Blake says and holds Adam’s hand as they walk into the store to buy it for her.

The clerk recognizes them (their luck had to run out at some point) so they finally leave after posing for a picture and signing a crumpled napkin and wishing her a Merry Christmas.

Adam holds the bag with the scarf in it close to his chest when they get outside, his brow still furrowed. “She better like it.”

“She will, honey,” Blake promises, kissing the top of his head to make him feel better. “You know she will.”

They finish their shopping within the next couple hours.

Adam holds onto the bag tightly throughout all of it.

\--

Wrapping the presents turns out to be a much more difficult task.

Adam holds one of them in his hands, staring down at it mournfully. “Mine looks like I shoved in in the garbage disposal and then took it back out.”

To his credit, Blake isn’t doing much better. The country singer had finished wrapping the shirt they had gotten for Adam’s dad a few minutes ago. Now he’s staring at it like it betrayed him. “I should’ve put it in a box first,” he mutters, holding the wrapped-shirt with one hand and watching as it sags toward the floor.

Adam rips the wrapping off his and reaches for another roll, growling. “There has to be a method—chicks do this all the time no problem and it looks amazing, and we've been at this for hours.” He folds the paper around the gift and tries again. “My edges are crinkly,” he moans a bit later.

Blake sighs and puts his head in his hands, raising it a second later. “Okay, just—we’ll just wrap them as best we can and be done with it.”

“Our bestlooks like shit.”

“Then shit they shall be!” Blake declares, opening a roll of paper with reindeer on it. He pauses when Adam reaches a hand out and stops him. “What?”

“You can’t use that paper, Blake.”

“Why the hell not?”

“It has reindeer on it.”

“So?”

“You shoot them for fun!”

“I don’t shoot reindeer, idiot, I shoot  _regular_  deer.”

“But you would if you could, right? Shoot reindeer if it was allowed?”

Silence.

Adam snatches the paper from him, holding it protectively. “Don’t even look at these reindeer, Blake.”

“I’m not looking.”

“Don’t even think about them.”

“I’m not thinking either.”

“That’s not surprising.”

Blake grabs the roll of reindeer paper back from Adam and whacks him over the head with it. Adam giggles and takes it back, setting it behind him. “Love you, Blakey-boo.”

“Love you too, asshole.”

\--

They fall into bed somewhere around eleven, too exhausted to do anything but curl up on their sides and sigh away the last of the day’s activities.

Adam has been somewhat dead on his feet for the last couple hours so Blake has to rearrange him on the bed and get him under the blankets since he’s already half-asleep and can’t do it on his own. Adam grunts at him when he does but goes willingly wherever Blake positions him, limp as a ragdoll and quiet as a little mouse.

He crawls under the blankets afterward and pulls Adam flush to his chest. It’s been a long day filled with shopping and decorating and wrapping presents and they have an even longer day tomorrow, which is Christmas Eve and their family will be arriving sometime around noon; mothers, god-mothers, step-mothers, cousins, nieces, nephews, aunts, uncles, the whole lot of them will be here, and Blake is exhausted just thinking about it.

Adam sprawls on top of him at some point, cheek pillowed on his chest.

They both fall asleep within minutes.

\--

At six the next morning, on Christmas Eve, they force themselves out of bed to start baking a variety of sweets that’ll hopefully keep the family appeased until the big Christmas dinner tomorrow.

They kind of go all-out with it, making enough baked goods to feed a small army.

Adam is sitting on the kitchen counter sucking on a candy cane when Blake pulls another batch of cookies out of the oven. “I think we burned these,” he says, poking at them with a spatula.

“Put them with the others,” Adam replies, licking his candy cane with enthusiasm. Blake tries not to pay attention but something stirs in his lower belly every time he looks over and catches a glimpse of Adam’s tongue darting out and his lips wrapping around the minty treat.

He swallows, dumping the burnt cookies in with the rest on a separate plate. “I can’t believe we burned three entire batches of chocolate chip cookies. They’re out of a box too—it’s amazing how we somehow fucked that up.”

“One of our many talents as a couple.”

Blake sighs. “What should we do with them?”

“We can eat them before anyone gets here and sees?”

“You’re not eating three dozen cookies before dinner, Adam.”

“I said  _we_ ,” Adam corrects.

“Well,  _we’re_  not eating three dozen cookies either,” Blake says, putting the cookies that actually turned out okay into some plastic Tupperware so they’ll stay fresh. “Last thing you need is a tummy ache and a sugar high.”

Adam shrugs and slurps lewdly around his candy cane in response.

Blake sighs again. “Could you stop that?”

“Stop what?” the front man asks as he slides the candy in and out of his mouth slowly, his eyes twinkling with mischief. His lips are red and sticky when he pulls away from it.

Blake feels heat burn inside him and whips back around to the next batch of cookies they have ready. He rips open the package with more strength than necessary and starts laying the cookie dough cubes out on the baking pan. “Stop sucking on that damn thing like you’re trying to pleasure it,” he mutters. “It’s a distraction, y’know.”

Adam hops off the counter and leans over into his personal space, blocking Blake’s view of the cookies he’s trying to bake. He puts the candy cane back in his mouth and repeats the same slow, tantalizing motion as before and lets it make a wet ‘popping’ sound as it leaves the suction of his lips.

He smiles knowingly when Blake lets out a long, sufferable sigh, trying to ignore him as he slides the cookie sheet into the oven. “You’re gonna kill me someday,” he groans but there’s a smile on his face all the same.

Adam grins and reaches around, slipping the candy cane into Blake’s mouth and watching with wide eyes when Blake sucks around it just as lewdly as he had been before.

 _Payback’s a bitch_ , he thinks as he tries to make Adam just as sexually frustrated as he’s feeling right now.

Adam removes it and the moment he does Blake instantly leans down to capture his mouth with his own, both of them getting a sticky taste of peppermint on the other’s tongue as their lips slide together.

They keep kissing for what feels like hours until the sugary taste is almost gone and then Blake reaches down and jabs his fingers into Adam’s sides, all dimples when the pop singer shrieks and tries to squirm away in a fit of giggles.

“Stop, stop, stop!” Adam wheezes, breathless and wriggling around against the counter as Blake pins him to it and proceeds to tickle him within an inch of his life. “I’ll—I’ll shank you with this candy cane, I swear to  _God_.”

Blake relents after that because the candy cane is actually sharp as a knife right now and he doesn’t want to take any chances. He’s still grinning, though, keeping his hands on Adam’s waist as he watches his boyfriend try to catch his breath and stop smiling, trying to look annoyed but mostly just looking like a scolded kitten.

“You’re so dumb,” Adam says, arms wrapped around his sides protectively as he stares up at Blake with that little sweet dimpled smile he loves so much.

Blake kisses the dimple on his left cheek, beaming. “You’re so  _cute_ ,” he echoes.

Adam squirms and pops the candy cane back into his mouth, sliding out of reach and back to his perch on the countertop.

He’s still smiling like a loon and Blake shakes his head, amused. “What?”

Adam’s smile gets bigger. “The cookies are burning.”

“Oh shit!” Blake whirls around and turns the stove off, opening the door and peering in at the blackened cookies inside, smoke pouring off the pan. “ _God damn it_.”

“My mom would slap you upside the head if she heard you say that.”

“My own mama would do that just fine,” he grumbles as he pulls out the cookies, completely offended that they managed to burn yet another batch. He supposes that’s what they get, though, for making out for ten minutes instead of watching the oven like they should’ve been. “Now what?”

Adam shrugs. “Think we’ll have better luck with a cake?”

“I think we’d have better luck going to the store and buying six dozen donuts.”

“Nonsense,” Adam says and hops back down off the counter. He hands his candy cane to Blake and rummages around in the cabinets, pulling out a large mixing bowl and some ingredients that he seems to have memorized.

Blake pops the candy cane into his own mouth and watches, waiting for some kind of instruction since it seems like Adam has this all under control.

“Get over here and help me, idiot.”

Or maybe not.

Blake ambles over to him. “I’m all yours, captain.”

Adam snorts but dumps all the ingredients into the bowl, measuring everything precisely and carefully. After he cracks the eggs and pours in the cake mix, he hands a big wooden spoon to Blake. “Stir it for me.”

“You can’t stir it yourself?” Blake asks but takes the spoon anyways, poking the mix with it.

“I’d rather watch you do it,” Adam answers, putting his elbows on the counter and his chin in his hands, looking up at Blake through his eyelashes.

Blake shakes his head, amused, and starts stirring the contents of the bowl.

“Oh yeah,” Adam fakes a gasp. “So big and manly. You stir that cake, babe.”

Blake stops stirring.

He picks the spoon up out of the bowl and wipes a big glob of gooey cake mix onto Adam’s nose with it.

Adam makes a cute scrunchy face in response, squeezing his eyes shut and wrinkling his nose. It reminds Blake of that time he had smooched him on the Voice and Adam had made that same face for a whole two minutes afterward, pretending that he hated it when Blake now knows it had been the exact opposite.

He takes pity on him when Adam makes no move to clean himself up and swoops in, nipping at his nose and licking away the cake mix with his tongue.

Adam squeals, wiping his face with a hand and shuddering as he stands up straight. He tries to look grossed-out but his giant dimply smile gives him away. “You’re so nasty,” he says.

Blake gives him a second kiss on the nose, one that’s a little less slobbery. “You love me.”

“God knows why,” Adam sighs, maneuvering behind Blake and wrapping his arms around him, pressing kisses to his shoulder blades. “Now stir that cake mix, baby. Make me proud.”

Instead of getting carried away with another make-out session this time when they put it in the oven, they both sit on the floor cross-legged in front of the stove, resolving to keep a close eye on their cake as it bakes for the next thirty minutes. They take turns finishing off Adam’s candy cane, passing it back and forth between them and exchanging quick, sticky kisses when they can afford to look away.

The cake turns out miraculously fine in the end.

\--

Adam’s parents and brothers show up first.

Blake greets them at the door, letting them in after exchanging quick hugs and pleasantries. Patsy fusses over Adam’s hair and straightens his sweater, gripping him by the face and kissing him on both cheeks. Blake pulls him aside when she turns her back and wipes the lipstick from his face.

“You boys did a nice job decorating the house,” she praises, looking around.

“Adam did most of it,” Blake says with a proud smile. “I just supervised, made sure he didn’t cut himself.”

“I kinda got carried away,” Adam blushes, looking sheepish.

“Nonsense,” Patsy says, swatting his arm. “It looks beautiful, honey. I’m glad you had fun.”

Adam smiles at that, probably happy his mother isn’t admonishing him for getting more into Christmas than he ever did for Hanukah. He grabs Sam and Michael and his father after that, dragging them off by the arm to show them around the ranch.

Blake takes Patsy into the kitchen to show her all the goodies they’ve prepared.

“Oh my goodness,” she beams, peeking into each plastic bowl. “You’ve baked enough for the whole state.”

“Just wanted to make sure we had enough. All this will be half-gone by tomorrow, and y’all can take home leftovers if you want.”

She smiles at that and pats him on the arm. “You two are so good together.”

Blake chuckles. “I never get tired of hearing that.”

“Good. Now, be the southern gentleman my son claims you to be and give me a tour.”

\--

Blake’s own mother shows up an hour later. She gives him a big hug and tells him he needs a haircut and that his sister, Endy, won't be able to make it but otherwise seems pleased to see him. When he guides her into the living room where everyone else is, Adam freezes on the couch and discreetly shifts a little closer to his own mother.

“Ma, this is Patsy,” Blake says, introducing them. “And this is Sam and Michael, Adam’s brothers, and his father, Fred.”

Dorothy smiles and shakes all their hands, pointedly ignoring Adam.

Blake clears his throat. “And you remember Adam, right?” he asks, gesturing toward his tense little boyfriend.

Adam gives her a big sweet smile, hands fidgeting in his lap. “Hello. It's nice to see you again."

“You too, Adam,” Dorothy says coolly with an unreadable expression. She then turns to Patsy and the two of them sneak off into the kitchen to inspect their baking even further.

As soon as they’re out of sight, Adam bends over, head in his hands. “She still hates me,” he moans.

“No she don’t,” Blake sighs, sitting next to him and pulling him to his side. She had acted a little aloof, maybe even a little cold, but hate was an awful strong word.

“At least she said your name this time,” Michael offers, giving his brother a sympathetic look.

“And she didn’t call you anything bad,” Sam adds brightly.

“Or punch you in the face,” Fred laughs.

Blake glares at all three of them because that totally isn't helping.

Adam drops his head on Blake’s shoulder, miserable. “Yeah. She just looked at me like I’m roadkill.”

“Give her some time, darling,” Blake soothes, rubbing his back. “My mama don’t do nothing quick.”

\--

The rest of the family shows up little by little, and before too long the entire house is packed.

Well—not  _packed_ , the place is huge and meant for this sort of thing, but it’s definitely a little crowded with a lot of noise and a lot of chattering.

He and Adam start up dinner a little while after that, mostly just to get away from it all.

It’s spaghetti and meatballs tonight—they’re keeping it simple, since they don’t wanna do anything too fancy and spoil the big dinner tomorrow—and after it's done Adam sits close to him at the head of the table, chewing his noodles quietly and keeping his conversation polite and to a minimum.

Blake knows why—his mama is sitting right across from Adam and she’s making him nervous with her stony silence, which Adam is no-doubt mistaking for judgment on their cooking or something.

Most of his family have already adjusted to the idea of him and Adam being together; it took them some time, but they eventually came around and accepted it, or at least tolerated it. His mother is the only one who remains frustratingly stubborn and he can’t understand  _why_.

He picks at his second plate of spaghetti, suddenly not as hungry when he catches his mom casting odd looks in Adam’s direction when she thinks he’s not looking.

Adam is the best thing that’s ever happened to him. Why can’t she see that? It makes his stomach twist unpleasantly, knowing he doesn’t have her approval, and he doesn’t know how to make it better, how to make her realize how good Adam is for him.

He really hopes things turn around by tomorrow. The last thing he wants is for their Christmas to be filled with anxiety and uncertainties, with Adam constantly thinking Dorothy wants to whack him with a hammer.

He sure as heck hopes that ain’t the truth.

His mama is just—she’s still sizing Adam up, or something. That has to be it.

She  _did_  ask for his measurements, after all, which Blake knows isn’t something to be taken lightly.

Tomorrow will be better, he thinks.

He hopes.

\--

They finish dinner and just as he and Adam are about to clear the plates, Patsy grabs his wrist and stops him.

“You boys take a rest—we’ll clean up.” She gestures to herself and the other women in the room who are all standing around waiting as if this had already been agreed upon.

Blake shakes his head immediately. “No, no, we can—”

“It wasn’t a suggestion, honey.” Patsy smiles, swatting him on the arm. “You two take the kids outside and keep them busy. It’s the least we can do.”

He doesn’t know how she thinks ‘taking a rest’ equates to ‘babysitting a bunch of children’ but she all but shoves them out the door with a small army of kids trailing behind them.

They get out into the living room and a small hand suddenly grabs a fistful of his shirt, demanding his attention.

“Yes?” he inquires down at a blond little boy named Tucker (Adam’s youngest cousin, if Blake remembers correctly, about four or five years old) who is staring at him with wide eyes, his neck craned all the way back so he can look up at him.

“Can we go play in the snow?” Tucker asks, his lower lip threatening to wobble if he says no.

Blake is floundering for the right answer (are they allowed to take all these kids and release them into the wilderness of Oklahoma? He has no idea) when Adam swoops in, bending down at eye-level with the little guy.

“We sure can,” he tells him eagerly. “Blake has  _tons_  of land—we can play all day, if you want!”

Blake flinches when every kid in the room starts gasping and squealing, scrambling around the house and tripping over each other in excitement as they get their snow pants and jackets and boots on.

Adam pokes his head back into the kitchen to tell the parents what they’re up to and after getting their permission to release their children into the great wild, he’s wriggling into his snow gear too.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were just as excited as they are,” Blake comments, pulling his own jacket on over his shoulders as he watches Adam practically vibrate in his haste to follow the kids outside.

Adam tugs on his beanie as they head out the door, smiling. “We  _never_  had this much snow when I was a kid—or any snow, actually, being in LA and all,” he adds. “I have a lot of missed playtime to make up for.”

Blake laughs and watches from the porch with a little trepidation as Adam and the kids both take off, running in all directions and some of them even falling over because the snow is too high for their short little legs. One little girl takes Adam’s hand and leads him around, insisting quite loudly that they need to make snow angels  _right now_.

He really hopes there’s no sheets of ice anywhere out there—the last thing they need is for someone to break a leg or crack their skull.

They'd never be allowed to host Christmas again.

“You’re dating a toddler,” Michael appears at his side, smiling over at him, “but I think you already knew that.”

“I sure do,” Blake chuckles, watching in the distance as Adam flops down in the snow with the little girl. “I wouldn’t trade him for the world.”

“Not even if Miranda wanted you back?”

Blake stiffens but the question doesn’t catch him off guard like he thinks it was meant to. Despite having been together already for two years, Adam’s family still has some hesitations about the whole thing, and all within good reason. His track record isn’t the best, after all, so it’s perfectly understandable that they still worry he’s going to up and leave Adam when the next pretty thing comes along.

What he has with Adam is effortless, so easy sometimes he often thinks he’s dreaming it up.

He’ll never be able to explain it. All he can hope to do is show it for as long as it takes for them to believe that what he has with Adam is the real thing—that he’s not going to leave unless Adam clubs him over the head and tosses him out the front door.

He looks over at Michael, who’s eyeing him cautiously, one second away from turning into overprotective little brother if Blake so much as gives him the wrong answer. He sighs.

“I wouldn’t leave him even if Miranda got down on her knees and begged me to come back,” he admits.

Michael raises his chin, satisfied with that answer. “You better not, asshole. I’ve never seen my big brother so happy—sure as shit not with Anne,” (Blake makes a face at the mention of her name—he’s still bitter about that one, with how she ended things with Adam) “and not with Behati either. You’re good for him, for whatever reason. Don’t fuck it up.”

“I don’t plan on it.”

“Good.”

The conversation drops after Michael wraps his scarf around his neck and gives him a salute, trekking down into the snow with all the kids and helping some of them make an igloo.

Blake stands for a moment longer on the porch, thinking, before heading out to find Adam and maybe dump some snow down the back of his shirt for shits and giggles.

It’s easy enough to spot him—he’s the tallest one out there besides Michael—and it’s even easier to sneak up behind him, wrapping his arms around his little lover.

Adam tries to wriggle away with a laugh but Blake holds on tighter and pulls them both backwards until he’s flat on his back in a snow bank with Adam sprawled out on top of him.

They land with an “oof”, Adam squirming until they’re face-to-face, legs tangled together. “I was wondering when you’d join us,” he says and reaches up to peck him on the lips.

“I was having a nice conversation with your brother.”

“Mikey?” Adam frowns, peering around the field to seek out his brother and squint at him suspiciously.

“That’d be the one.”

“What’d he want?”

Blake shrugs as much as he can while still flat on his back. “Just to make sure I won’t be leaving you at the alter or something anytime soon.”

Adam drops his head down onto Blake’s shoulder, hiding his face. “I’m sorry,” he moans. “He's being nosy.”

“He just wants to make sure you’re in good hands.”

“I’m in great hands,” Adam chirps, lifting his head and reaching down to grab Blake’s right hand. He waves it around in the air for emphasis. “These are the best hands I could possibly be in.”

“You think so?”

“I know so,” Adam responds immediately, kissing his knuckles one by one and then rolling over so that he’s lying beside him in the snow. “Now  _your mother_  on the other hand—she thinks  _my hands_  are terrible, evil little things that are dragging her poor baby boy down into the very depths of hell.”

Blake barks out a laugh, because he’s been cruising down on his way to hell long before he started fucking men, and reaches over to grab both of Adam’s hands with one of his own, giving them a light squeeze. “I told you, she’ll come around.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Keep your eyes peeled then,” Blake says, pushing himself up. “Now come on, my ass is freezing.”

“Want me to warm it up?”

“Not in front of the children.”

They spend the next twenty minutes building a snowman and if it looks a little bit like Michael when Adam judo-kicks it to pieces afterward, well, that's for them to know and for Michael to spend the next twenty-four hours wondering about.

\--

The little kids all very unceremoniously plan a snowball fight soon after that—only it’s not so much of a plan as it is a  _‘everyone throw snow at each other as quick as possible’_  type of thing that has no rules or teams.

There’s at least a foot and a half of snow outside so there’s plenty to go around and the kids get into immediately, building crappy snowballs with their tiny hands and hurling them at each other.

Blake has no plans to join in on the festive activity until Adam sneaks up behind him and smashes a great big snowball into the back of his head.

He whirls around, icy droplets clinging to his hair, and stares incredulously at his little shit of a boyfriend.

“You—”

“Come and get it, Big Country,” Adam grins, backing away playfully.

Blake surges forward, kneeling down to grab a handful of snow as Adam squeaks and runs away from him, boots slipping and sliding as he tries to get away.

He whips a snowball at Adam and it hits him square in the back. The front man laughs and then flings one right back at him, whooping when it lands smack dab in the center of Blake’s chest.

It goes on for a while after that, both of them chucking snowballs at each other as hard as they can while giggling like a couple of school boys. Even some of the kids join in, hollering and shouting as they chase two grown men around in a giant field of snow.

For whatever reason, they eventually start siding with Blake.

Adam blinks when he notices them all lined up at Blake’s side, snowballs in hand—and then he grins, playful and energetic, backing away from them all. “Traitors!” he yells, which earns him a few giggles from the kids.

They’re all practically shaking with the need to pelt their favorite relative with snow, so Blake gives them the go-ahead and within seconds there’s an army of snowballs raining down on his poor boyfriend.

The front man shrieks, covering his head and cowering from the onslaught as dozens of snowballs start hitting him from every angle. Some of the kids even go for a second round (Michael is like a machine gun with his, throwing snowballs at his brother so fast that it has to be some kind of retaliation for the snowman earlier, Blake thinks) and it’s a full minute before the attack finally stops but when it does the kids are all squealing and running straight for Adam, tackling him to the ground and smothering him with hugs and kisses that beg for his forgiveness.

Blake doubles over laughing at the sight of his tiny boyfriend covered in snow with a bunch of cute little kids crawling around on top of him like ants on a potato chip crumb, tugging at his clothes and wrapping their tiny arms around his neck as they tell him they’re sorry and they love him.

Adam is smiling so big during all of it that it makes Blake’s entire chest swell with affection, so much that he thinks his heart might burst with how much he loves the little guy.

He finally takes pity on him and rushes forward, gently prying his boyfriend away and picking him up bridal style, grinning widely and smooching his forehead when Adam flails and clings to him for dear life.

The kids all giggle at their antics, covering their mouths and looking up at them in wonder.

“Sorry, kiddos,” Blake tells them, adjusting Adam in his arms, who has started shivering a bit. “I gotta take the prince inside and warm him up. We don’t want him getting sick, do we?”

They all say ‘no’ in unison, still snickering.

Adam perks up in his arms suddenly, his jaw dropping as he looks down at the kids excitedly. “Hands up if you want Blake to make us hot chocolate!”

He’s met with a chorus of screams and tiny little hands shooting up in the air, small bodies swarming around Blake’s legs, their chubby fingers fisting his jeans as they try and pull him back towards the house.

Blake snorts, pressing his mouth close to Adam’s ear to whisper to him, “You little shit.”

Adam beams, scrunching his nose up in that adorable way he does when he’s happy. He wraps his arms around Blake’s neck and kisses him soundly on the mouth. “You love me, though,” he says when they finally pull apart.

“God knows why,” Blake grins, repeating what Adam had said earlier and letting the kids steer him back in the direction of the house. They’re all chattering away and telling him how they all want extra marshmallows and to use the colorful mugs he has in the special cabinet.

He shakes his head in amusement and takes them all inside, still carrying Adam in his arms despite the fact that his mother looks at them oddly when they walk through the front door.

He ignores her for now, taking Adam in the opposite direction before he too can notice her wary expression and start overthinking about what it might mean.

Adam has been smiling non-stop for the last hour and a half.

Blake will do anything to keep it that way.

\--

Much later that night, after long hours of gorging themselves on hot chocolate and entertaining the kids with some old classic Christmas cartoons, he and Adam both sit curled up on the floor by the fireplace, wrapped in blankets and trying to get warm since the temperature has dropped drastically ever since the sun went down.

Blake has an arm around Adam, keeping him tucked snug against his side because he knows Adam is more prone to getting chilly and he’s also the one who got pelted with hundreds of snowballs just a few hours ago.

It’s quiet (most everyone has gone to bed already) so they keep their voices low as they speak in hushed tones to each other.

“I can’t believe the little monsters all sided with you,” Adam says around a yawn, his head pillowed on Blake’s shoulder as he stares at the crackling fire.

“I can’t believe  _you_  had me make a dozen hot chocolates.”

“Revenge is a beautiful thing.”

Blake huffs at him but pulls him even closer all the same, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. Adam’s hair is fluffed up beyond imagining from the snow and wind and it makes him look soft and snuggly, so cute Blake just wants to squeeze him until he pops or at least makes cute indignant noises and tries to shove him away.

They head up to bed a little while later, sneaking into their bedroom so they don’t wake the rest of the family and curling up under their blankets and snuggling for warmth.

Tomorrow is Christmas and they have to get up at some point and cook dinner.

Blake tries not to worry about it, tries to not think about how their baking all went horribly wrong and how it might have been a warning of some kind, telling them that cooking an entire holiday dinner is a mistake and might end with the entire house catching on fire.

He noses the back of Adam’s neck and shuts his eyes, listening to his boyfriend’s breathing even out and praying to whoever listens that tomorrow will turn out okay.

\--

They wake up kind of late.

It’s around nine when Blake finally stirs and stretches his long limbs, glancing over at the clock before taking in his still-sleeping lover at his side. He can hear excited talking and small feet running around downstairs, so he assumes the rest of the family has already woken up and started on the presents. He’s glad they hadn’t woken them up as well; he wants to spend a little quiet time with Adam first before they have to go down and socialize.

Blake pushes himself up, bracing his arms on either side of Adam until the front man is sprawled out beneath him, still fast asleep.

Adam sleeps in just his underwear on most nights so Blake has plenty to ogle at as he looms over him.

He stares down at him, fascinated.

Adam looks very young like this. It drives Blake crazy just looking at him, just taking him in and listening to his breathing quicken just from the mere sensation of having Blake’s weight on top of him.

He leans down to nuzzle the side of Adam’s face, peppers his mouth and neck with innocent feather-like kisses until the little guy starts to wake up and show some signs of life.

Adam’s eyes flutter open and he stretches, warm soft breath leaving his lips as he yawns. He smiles sleepily when he sees Blake’s face inches away from his own. “Hey, you.”

“Hey.”

They grin at each other, all dimples, and then Blake leans down again to give him a proper kiss this time, keeping it slow and languid as he reaches up to run a hand through Adam’s hair.

He pulls away and rolls back onto his side, tugging Adam flush against him.

"Snuggle time?" Adam asks around another yawn, cuddling close.

"Snuggle time," Blake confirms.

They lay there for a long while, listening to the sounds of their family downstairs and each other's quiet breathing.

It's snowing outside their window, big fat snowflakes falling from the sky at a slow rate. Blake watches it for a while, feeling strangely at peace with his tiny lover nestled between his arms, sharing his warmth while it's so cold and frigid out there.

He plants a kiss on the side of Adam's face, happier than he's felt in ages. “Merry Christmas, baby," he whispers.

Adam looks up at him, still sleepy but his eyes showcasing all the happiness that he's feeling, too. "Merry Christmas."

\--

They make their way downstairs after that, a little sheepish just in case anyone heard their little impromptu 'fuck each other's brains out' session they'd been christening the morning with for the last hour, but if they did no one seems to care or at least has enough kindness in them not to comment on it.

Most of the kids have opened their presents by now and are already playing with them, empty boxes and about a hundred of those annoying plastic twisty-tie things scattered around all over the floor. The adults in the family sit on couches and armchairs, the women chatting while the men all nurse a beer, laughing with each other and plastering on fake enthusiasm when a kid rushes up to them and explains to them what they got from Santa this year.

Blake leaves Adam on the couch to go fetch them both some coffee to wake them up a little more and when he comes back, two giant steaming mugs in hand, he pauses in the doorway, his heart stopping for just a brief second at the sight in front of him.

Adam is sitting on the couch with a box in his lap, and Dorothy is standing in front of him with her arms crossed over her chest.

He sets their coffee on the end table and looks between them, at his mama’s expectant expression and the way Adam is just staring at her with that deer-caught-in-headlights look.

“What’s all this?” Blake asks, sitting down beside Adam and wrapping an arm around him just in case he has to fend off his mother from giving his boyfriend a panic attack or something

“Your—” Adam starts, looks up at Dorothy and then quickly looks back down at the box in his lap, swallowing nervously. “Your mom got me a present.”

The wrapping paper has little baby Rudolph’s on it. Adam pokes at it experimentally.

Blake nudges him. “Well, open it.”

Hope is soaring in his chest—his mom had asked for Adam’s measurements; this has to be why.

She had made him something, which means that she must be okay with him, right?

God, he hopes so.

He has to nudge Adam again because he’s just sitting there staring at the present like he thinks a snake will shoot out of it and bite him in the face.

“I’ve been trying to get him to open it for a few minutes now but he hasn't moved an inch,” Dorothy says and smiles knowingly, and wow,  _what a little sneak_ —she knows the effect she’s been having on Adam, how nervous she’s been making him. Was this all some kind of test?

Blake has no idea but he nudges Adam for a third time and helps him get started on unwrapping the box, ripping one of the corners off. “Don’t be rude, darling, open it.”

His mama don’t even flinch at the pet name so he takes that as another good sign.

Adam reaches out hesitantly and starts peeling away the paper carefully, not excitedly as Blake expected he would, but rather as if whatever’s inside is delicate or fragile and must be opened with as much gentleness as possible.

It takes an agonizing amount of time for him to finally get it open but when he does, when he rips off the tape on the box and finally opens the damn thing and peeks inside, the look on his face is priceless.

He looks—well, he looks like he’s just received a handwoven sweater from a woman he thought hated his guts.

Adam pulls it out gently; it’s dark green with an ugly-ass Christmas tree sewn on the front of it.

Blake recognizes his mother’s patchwork anywhere and knows she probably spent long hours at home knitting and sewing it to Adam’s exact measurements.

It’s uglier than shit, God bless her heart, but Adam holds it in his hands like it’s the most amazing thing he’s ever seen in his life and Blake has to nudge him, yet again, and remind him to breathe.

Adam does, sucking in a huge breath and looking up at Dorothy like she’s an angel or some beautiful apparition.

“I—I don’t know what to say,” he stammers, a cute blush rising on his cheeks.

Blake leans over to whisper, “Say thank you.”

“Thank you!” Adam shouts, his head shooting up to look up at her, scandalized at himself for not saying it sooner. “I—yes, thank you. Thank you, thank you, I love it.”

Dorothy laughs, bending to squeeze Adam’s face between her hands. “You've got my approval, sweetheart.” She sobers up quickly then, her expression turning solemn. “And honey, I know I ain’t been the nicest to you these past couple years and that’s my own fault, not yours. I just want what’s best for my son.”

“I know. I want that, too,” Adam squirms, looking down again, and shit—Blake bets his own life that Adam would second-guess everything right now and actually believe her if his mama told him that  _he’s_  not what’s best for Blake.

He holds Adam tighter, unwilling to let his mother brainwash him into believing he’s not worthy of his love.

Dorothy leans down to look Adam in the eye. “You’re a good boy, far more than what my son deserves—”

Blake almost feels offended, but yeah, that is kinda true.

“—but you  _are_  good for him, I can see that now, and I know I made you feel just awful in the meantime while I was figuring that out, and I am very sorry. You didn't deserve any of that."

“No, he didn't,” Blake readily agrees, proud of his mom for this but also still bitter that it took her so long to realize everything he’s already been trying to tell her for the last two years.

“ _Blake_ ,” Adam hisses, glaring at him. “Be  _nice_.”

Dorothy ignores them both, still focused on Adam. “I’ll find a way to make it up to you, sweetie. You’re a member of the family now and I won’t rest until you feel like one.”

Adam looks at her like she gave him the moon.

She walks away after patting him on the cheek and Adam’s entire face threatens to crack in half with how hard he’s trying not to smile. He holds the sweater in his lap, looking so positively delighted that he kicks his legs a little and wiggles right on the spot.

Blake doesn't even try and fight his own smile at seeing his boyfriend so thoroughly pleased—he’s grinning so big his cheeks hurt, pulling Adam in for a quick kiss and giving his shoulders a squeeze. “I told you it would be okay.”

“Could have fooled me,” Adam laughs, looking for all the world like someone has dumped a thousand puppies on him. He settles back against the couch, holding the sweater up in front of him. “Isn't it perfect?”

“It’s the ugliest thing I've ever seen.”

“Also known as  _perfect_.”

Blake snorts. “I guess you would think that, considering some of the shit I've seen you wear.” He wrinkles his nose, thinking about all the flower-printed and weird striped shirts Adam has hanging in their closet. He looks damn cute in all of them but it’s still an acquired taste.

Adam scoffs, holding the sweater lovingly against his chest. “Not all of us can wear flannel every day.”

“What a shame.”

He gets up after giving Adam another quick kiss on the lips, standing to go find his mama and give her the biggest hug he possibly can without crushing her lungs.

\--

Adam wears the sweater for the rest of the morning, parading around in it like a giant proud baby. He might as well be wearing an Armani suit, he looks so damn happy.

Dorothy opens her present from the both of them, gasping when she sees it and holding the floral blue scarf and repeatedly telling Adam how much she loves it, peppering his face with big mommy kisses that leave traces of red lipstick all over his nose and cheeks. Adam doesn't even bother wiping it off, dazedly walking around the house in his ugly sweater like he’s on cloud nine and never plans on coming back down.

It warms Blake’s heart to see all of it; he’s over the moon with how his mother is finally giving Adam the acceptance he’s been craving for the last two years. He’s still a little miffed that it took her so long but maybe that just means he and Adam are the real deal—after all, she had accepted Miranda within two seconds of meeting her and look how that turned out.

He stands off to the side, observing the crowd with a beer in hand as he waits for Adam to get done showing off his new sweater to everyone who will listen so they can get started on cooking dinner.

All the kids are winding down, some of the initial excitement from opening presents finally wearing off and most of them are sprawled in front of the television watching a Charlie Brown rerun while clutching brand new Barbie dolls and teddy bear’s to their chests.

He’s finishing off his beer when Adam comes strolling over, the sleeves of his sweater covering his hands (Blake had lied and told his mama that Adam’s arms were a little extra long since he knows Adam likes having the longer sleeves to hide his hands in) as he wraps his arms around Blake and snuggles into his chest.

“Michael told me my sweater is  _positively divine_ ,” Adam boasts, using his best imitation of his brother’s lisp for those last two words.

Blake laughs and holds him close, swaying them back and forth a little to the cheerful Christmas music playing in the background as he smiles down at his little lover. “He might need to get his eyes checked, then.”

Adam doesn’t even dignify that with a response, not that Blake actually cares. He knows Adam loves the sweater more than anything and nothing he says will make him change his mind about it. Adam just merely hums at him and rests his head against Blake’s chest, enjoying the gentle swaying motion Blake has them in.

Someone—that  _someone_  ending up being Michael, speak of the devil, who is just as much of a little shit as his big brother, Blake has recently decided—whistles at them from across the room and gestures for them to look up.

They both do, and Blake barks out a laugh.

Mistletoe—there’s  _mistletoe_  hanging right above their heads.

He looks down at Adam. “Did you put that there?”

Adam’s lips quirk, looking up at the little green plant in mischief. “I did no such thing.”

“Uh-huh,” Blake answers, disbelieving. He leans down then and crushes their mouths together, giving him the biggest, filthiest kiss he can manage while still being in a room full of decent church-going citizens.

The little kids giggle and Adam’s father catcalls them, but when they pull apart and glance around the room, they’re met with nothing but approving, genuine smiles all around.

Now Blake feels like he's on cloud nine as well.

\--

Sometime later, they shut themselves in the kitchen and start on the big dinner.

Adam is bustling around the room wearing a pink apron. Blake had jokingly handed it to him after he found it in the hall closet while searching for an extra ladle but Adam had snatched it out of his hands and put it on immediately, claiming he’d never forgive himself if he spilled gravy on his brand new sweater.

Blake can’t even find it in himself to make fun of him because the apron actually looks  _really fucking good_  on him.

“Quit standing around, Sasquatch, we've got potatoes to mash.” Adam says as he zips past Blake and retrieves several spuds from the bottom of pantry, carrying them over to the sink to wash.

Blake follows him, purposefully bumping his hip against Adam’s as he takes a position at the sink and starts helping him clean the damn things. Adam smiles and bumps against him right back. “Stop being weird, we gotta focus.”

“You boys doing okay in here?” a familiar southern voice asks from behind.

They both turn around in time to see their mothers standing in the doorway, looking as if they’re barely restraining themselves from coming on in.

Adam makes eye contact with Dorothy and pales a little bit, turning back around to the sink real quick to wash his potato with more gusto.

“We’re fine,” Blake says and gives them an easy smile, trying to be reassuring because he knows the moment they spot any weakness they’re gonna swoop in and kick them both out of the kitchen. “We got everything under control.”

“You sure?” Patsy asks, standing on her tiptoes to peer in at one of the boiling kettles.

“We’re positive,” Blake insists. “Both y’all go sit down and take it easy, we got this.”

He shoos them out before they start trying to take over Christmas dinner. They fuss at him but otherwise seem to take his hint and venture back out into the living room to keep gossiping or whatever it is they do when they're together.

Blake shuts the kitchen door behind them and walks back over to Adam, who’s still standing at the sink vigorously washing his potato with a frown on his face.

“That potato’s not gonna have any skin left if you keep washing it like that,” he says quietly, his tone light, not sure why Adam had reacted like that at seeing Dorothy since he’s already got her approval.

Adam sets his potato down, still frowning. “This dinner has to be perfect, Blake.”

“Who says it won’t be?”

“ _They_  think it won’t be. They think we’re gonna mess it up, because we’re dudes or something. They don’t think we can handle all this. I don’t wanna disappoint your mom and make her think we can’t cook a fucking meal.”

Blake sighs. “God only knows why the Sexiest Man Alive craves the approval of a five-foot southern woman so damn much.”

“She’s your mom!” Adam practically shrieks, running all panicked-like over to the fridge to pull out some butter. “She made me a  _sweater_ , the least I can do is make her an awesome dinner!”

“Okay, okay,” Blake placates, grabbing Adam by the shoulders to stop him from bouncing around so much and working himself up. “I get it, baby, I really do, but—she  _loves you_ already. Dorothy Shelton don’t knit a sweater for just anyone, y’know.”

Adam peeks up at him through his eyelashes, hesitant. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. She never even made Miranda one.”

Adam perks up at that, straightening. “Really?”

“Really, really. She knows you like sweaters since you wear ‘em all the freakin’ time. She probably slaved for hours trying to knit that damn ugly thing for you, probably hurt her poor fingers while doing it, too.”

Adam wrings his hands together. “We should buy her some lotion.”

He snorts, taking Adam by the shoulders and turning him back around to face the counter. “Cook your little heart out, honey. Our mama’s will love it, no matter what we fuck up.”

“We’re  _not_  gonna fuck anything up,” Adam insists, picking up his potato again.

“Then it’ll be the best dinner anyone’s ever had.”

\--

And it kind of is.

They finish cooking sometime later that evening, just barely managing to not completely turn the Christmas ham into a giant burnt crisp.

Adam sets the table and arranges all the forks and spoons just how he wants them beside each plate while Blake carries in the various bowls of steaming hot food.

“I think it’s ready,” he says, looking down at the table and trying to think if they've missed anything.

Adam runs around and double-checks everything, counting the silverware and plates and making sure there’s enough for everyone before he seems even remotely satisfied.

He fidgets with his sweater sleeves, nervous. “Does it look okay?”

Blake nods, approving. “It looks great.”

Adam frowns and reaches out to straighten the bowl of potatoes, scooting it a mere inch away from where it had originally been sitting. “Okay. Now it’s perfect.”

Blake rolls his eyes and lets the family into the dining room.

Their moms gasp and gush at how nice everything looks and tell them they did a wonderful job, and the little kids all yammer on about how hungry they are and how they can’t wait to eat all this  _‘amazing’_  food.

Adam looks like he might just float away straight into outer space he looks so damn pleased with their response.

Blake would be lying if he said he didn't feel the same.

Everyone praises their cooking and eats until they’re all completely stuffed. Adam sits at one end of the table with the younger kids and his brothers, all of them talking a mile a minute about rocket ships and other weird topics that Blake wouldn't know what to do with—which is exactly why he’s sitting at the other end of the table with the rest of the adults, talking about taxes and the government and other typical ‘grown-up’ things.

It’s a really nice dinner, with Dorothy making a genuine effort to talk to Adam from across the table every now and then and making Adam’s entire face light up when she does.

Blake feels as though it might be their best Christmas yet.

It probably is.

He pulls Adam to the side later, after their moms kick them out again and refuse to let them do the dishes. "You good?" he asks, knowing full well how big of a day this must have been for Adam, how many different emotions had probably been swirling around in his tiny tattooed body.

Adam nods happily. “I’m perfect. This was—it was all _perfect_.”

Blake grins big and wide, immensely pleased with that response. "Good. I'm glad. Now," he walks over to the tree, pulling out a little something from underneath it that he had bought for Adam. It's a delicate thing and he had to send Fred out to pick it up for him earlier, and had to force the older man to keep it hidden in his room until it was time to bring it down. "I have something to give you."

Adam's eyes widen and he backs away, affronted. "Blake! We promised we weren't going to buy each other anything this year!"

"You really think I was gonna hold up on that?"

"I did!" Adam shrieks pitifully, looking down at the present in Blake's hand like it's some evil thing. “Now I look like an asshole. I didn't buy you anything, I didn't—”

Blake shushes him with a kiss. When he pulls back, Adam still looks fretful. "It's okay," he assures, because it really is. He bought Adam a present knowing full well he wouldn't be getting anything in return. He just wants to make him happy, that's it, and surprising him with a gift like this? Nothing will make him happier.

After he calms him down first, of course.

"I'm sorry, I didn't get you anything," Adam keeps moaning. "I'll get you something later, I promise."

"Give me a blowjob and we'll call it even."

Adam sniffs. "I'll give you twenty."

Blake smooches him again, sets him down on the couch, and then hands over the present. "Open it, please. And quick. It needs to breathe."

Adam looks confused at that last part but obeys immediately, some of the sadness wearing off as he experiences the satisfaction of ripping the wrapping paper off with his hands, tossing the little shredded pieces behind him. 

The box moves before he can open it.

Adam jerks back, staring at it.

Blake laughs. "Take the lid off."

He does, hesitant and unsure, and once he does, once he pulls the lid off, a little furry _something_ leaps out at him, licking the front man all over the face.

"A puppy!" Adam screams in delight, falling back and giggling as the little dark mop of fur smothers him with puppy kisses. "Blake, you got me a puppy!"

It's a little black Yorkie-Poodle mix, a tiny little thing that's all excited yips and energy as it jumps all over the place. Adam holds it in his hands and stares at it, his expression one of shocked happiness. "A puppy," he states again, amazed.

"I know we both each have dogs already," Blake explains, still smiling because the look on Adam's face is making this all so damn worth it, "but _we_ don't have a dog, so I figured, well, what's one more? He won't get very big, he's just a few weeks old, but I saw him and, I don't know, he just reminded me of you. So I had to get him. For us."

Adam leaps at him with an armful of squirming puppy, giving him a one-armed hug as he settles on Blake's lap. "I love you so fucking much." He holds the puppy out and lets it lick Blake's face. "Puppy loves you too."

Blake gives the dog a scratch on the head and Adam a kiss on the lips. "Merry Christmas."

Adam makes a noise, a little pleased sound, and cuddles against him, still grinning like a loon. "You get a hundred blowjobs for this."

The rest of the family comes out from the dining room, curious about all the commotion, and they all melt when they see Blake on the couch with two excited puppies in his lap. Adam shows off the dog without moving from his spot, holding it out for everyone to pet and still positively beaming as he explains to them how it's the cutest puppy he's ever seen in his life and how Blake is the absolute best.

Blake doesn't quite agree; he has a lot of faults, but he hopes moments like this make up for any mistakes he might make.

All in all, with his boyfriend happier than a bee in honey, it's a damn good Christmas.

**Author's Note:**

> Do y'all know how hard it is to write Christmas fic in 80 degree weather? *fans self*
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed!


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